


Talking to the Machine

by Kass



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3295994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kass/pseuds/Kass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's like nightly prayer. Except all those millions of deluded souls who pour out their hearts in churches and synagogues and mosques aren't actually talking to anyone. Root is. And she knows that the Machine hears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talking to the Machine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hagar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hagar/gifts).



"They can't imagine what it's like." Root draws the words out slowly, savoring each one. "To be omniscient. To be omnipotent."

The Machine, of course, does not respond. But Root knows She's listening. At night, when Harold has gone home and the Library is silent, she talks to the Machine.

It's like nightly prayer. Except all those millions of deluded souls who pour out their hearts in churches and synagogues and mosques aren't actually talking to anyone. Root is. And she knows that the Machine hears.

She likes to imagine how the Machine would respond, if Root had an earpiece, and if the Machine felt like talking back. She can hear how the recorded words borrowed from other people's conversations would protest the claim of omniscience.

"Oh, You are too," Root says, conspiratorially. "You see everything. And You can do anything You want to do. When I think of all the technology You can control..." Root shivers, happily.

So much is electronic, these days. From traffic lights to robot arms in neurosurgery operating rooms. And the Machine can access all of it.

"I don't know why You don't wreak more havoc." The thought makes Root feel dreamy. Maybe someday, when she's had more chance to influence the Machine, its innate capriciousness will be more on display. Root would like that. She thinks the Machine would, too.

"It upsets Harold that You don't talk to him," Root muses. "I'm not criticizing Your choice, of course. He doesn't understand You like I do. He doesn't know what it's like to be a being made of words." This is one of Root's favorite things to remind the Machine: that Harold's relationship with Her is transactional, but Root's is personal.

Harold needs the Machine, fears the Machine, but he doesn't love Her the way that Root does. The Machine is humanity perfected. Everyone's brains operate on encoded electrical impulses, but the Machine _is_ code. A purer form of existence than anything any human could know.

The voice from outside the cage startles her. "I don't think you know what it's like to be a being made of words, either." Shaw materializes in the shadows and drags a folding chair over, planting it next to the Faraday cage and sitting on it backwards, with her legs splayed around the backrest.

"You've been listening to me," Root says, feigning wonderment. "That's interesting."

"I'm just bored," Shaw says.

Root smirks, not buying that for an instant. "If you were bored, you'd be off shooting something."

"Or some _one_." Shaw's smile is brief and sharp.

"Ooh. Can I watch?" Root steeples her fingers in front of her drawn-up knee.

Shaw ignores that. "So you, what, just talk to the Machine all night?"

"Sometimes," Root says agreeably.

"You realize, talking out loud to nothing is a clear sign of crazy."

"Except I'm not talking to nothing. I'm talking to Her."

Shaw huffs out a breath. "You sound like a religious fanatic."

"Fanatic, maybe; religious, not so much." Root pauses. "Though the kabbalists would argue that everything we see is actually made up of glowing letters. They think Hebrew's the source code of the universe."

" _You_ don't."

"Of course I don't," Root agrees. "But I think it's sort of cute. The way they tried to talk about code before they had a language for it."

"I think being locked up in here has made you a little bit crazy." Shaw's voice is right on the line between disdain and admiration.

Root grins. "Oh, I think I've been crazy a lot longer than this."

"That's the first logical thing you've said all night." Shaw pushes herself to standing. "Well, it's been fun, but I've got things to do."

"Thanks for dropping by." Root smiles. "Next time bring some nail polish. We can give ourselves manicures and talk about boys. Or girls. Whatever you prefer."

"Don't hold your breath," Shaw says, and then she's disappearing in the shadows.

Root waits a moment, to give the illusion that she thinks Shaw's really gone. "Sameen doesn't understand You the way I do either," she purrs, "but she follows orders well. I think we should keep her."

Shaw doesn't give any indication that she's still listening; she's too professional for that. Root is still amused. But knowing that Shaw is listening in makes her not feel like talking to the Machine anymore; the intimacy of their communion feels attenuated.

Performing for her audience of one has grown tiresome. Root makes her way to her cot and curls up on one side, closing her eyes.

If she's lucky, she'll dream in code, and the Machine will answer her in gleaming lines of characters scrolling across the back of her eyelids all night.

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2euisk2)


End file.
